


Trick or Treat

by lafiametta



Series: Sasil Holidays [1]
Category: Outsiders (TV 2016)
Genre: Can We Please Pretend That Episodes 11 Through 13 Didn't Happen?, Costumes, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Frisky Business, Halloween, Trick or Treating, adorable children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8251952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafiametta/pseuds/lafiametta
Summary: Sally Ann introduces Hasil to the many traditions of Halloween.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is all slightly AU, but I love Halloween so much that I had to make sure Sally Ann and Hasil had a proper one!

“Hasil, you about done gettin’ changed?” she yelled into the next room. “The trick-or-treaters are gonna be here any minute…”

“Yeah, almos’…” she heard him holler back. 

Sally Ann looked down at the unopened bags of candy piled on top of the kitchen table. She hoped she had bought enough: even though it was a small town, Blackburg kids went all-out on Halloween and hit up every house that left a light on, sometimes more than once. She remembered trick-or-treating with her brother, in the days when her momma was still around, the two of them running home in the dark with their pillowcases full of candy, how they’d make big piles and then sort and count it all on the living room floor. 

“And whenever you’re done I could use your help gettin’ that big bowl outta the top cabinet…” 

Everything about today had been crazy; at work, they had been swamped with people buying last-minute decorations and candy and she had barely gotten out of there on time. And then, of course, she had realized on her way home that she had actually forgotten to get candy, so that meant a detour to the Zippy Bee and a ten-minute wait at the check-out line. There had barely been time to change into her costume before she heard the squeals of children from across the street, already starting to ring on doorbells. 

Normally, she wouldn’t have bothered to dress up just to hand out candy – she never had when she lived with James – but this year she and Hasil had been invited to a costume party at Sheriff Houghton’s house and it seemed to make sense to not waste any time changing clothes after all the trick-or-treaters had gone.

Their costumes had likewise turned out to be a bit of a last-minute arrangement. She had wanted to do something a little special, for Hasil at least, now that they were going to this party, but by the time she had found herself a free afternoon and made it to the town’s one rental shop, their selection had gotten pretty limited. In fact, the only set of matching costumes they had left looked like they had come straight out of colonial Williamsburg. The shop owner had shrugged, muttering something about how he had thought there would have been more fans of  _Hamilton_  in town, and Sally Ann had ended up leaving a deposit, if only somewhat reluctantly.

After putting the dress on, though, she had started to see the appeal. The bodice cut low and square across her chest, showing off more than enough skin; after glancing down, she had decided to tuck a thin lace scarf into the collar, at least until she was done handing out candy to children. The skirt was wide, yards of fabric billowing towards the ground, and her top half was cinched in tightly with a set of laces that tied at the front. She ran her hands down the sides of the bodice, marveling at how tiny it made her feel. Underneath the skirt, she was wearing a pair of black thigh-high stockings, thinking that it might be a fun surprise for Hasil when they finally got home. Her hair, though, had been a bit of a dilemma, until she finally just decided to roll and pin it all up onto the top of her head, full Marie Antoinette-style.

“Sally Ann, I still don’ understand… how come I gotta be wearin’ diff’rent clothes?”

“Hasil, I told you,” she shouted. “It’s tradition. On Halloween, you dress up like somebody else.”

“But why?”

“‘Cause it’s fun. Don’t you wanna be somebody else for a little while?”

“Nah,” he said, his voice growing louder as he made his way towards the kitchen, “I kinda like bein’ myself.”

As he stopped in the doorway, Sally Ann looked up, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

It wasn’t just that he was wearing something different – that enough would have made her take notice – it was that he looked like a completely different person. When she handed him the costume, she had told him what to do with all the pieces – the waistcoat over the shirt followed by the coat, the knee-length pants over the stockings, the cravat tied around the neck – and he had followed her instructions perfectly. He had even pulled his long hair back, tying all of it together right at the nape of his neck. It was like something out a movie or an old history book, dashing and surprisingly romantic, and she felt a slow coil of warmth tightening in the depths of her lower belly. The heat coursed upwards, flushing across her chest, her neck, and up into her cheeks. She bit her lips together, trying not to grin.

“Wha’?” he asked, eyebrows raised innocently.

“Nothin’,” she replied, pursing her mouth and shaking her head a little.

“I look okay?”

“Yeah…” And then she noticed the cravat, tied in a bow instead of wrapped around his neck on top of the shirt collar. “Except…”

She walked over towards him, close enough that she could untie the bow and begin to loosely curl the strip of fabric around his neck. He must have taken a bath while she was at work; she could smell the fresh traces of store-brand soap on his skin, but underneath that was the sweet, smoky scent she knew so well by now. She took a deep breath, getting a little lost in the nearness of him, her heartbeat thrumming like a bird’s wing within her veins.

As she tucked in the end of the cravat, she glanced up and met his gaze. His eyes were warm and heavy, pupils wide as dinner plates, and she realized with a flash of excitement that her outfit might be having the same effect on him that his did on her. She let her fingertips linger on his neck, tracing along the edges of his quickening pulse.

He canted his head, looking her up and down. “So this is wha’ ya look like, bein’ someone else?”

“Yeah…” she teased. “You don’t like it?”

“Didn’ say tha’…”

His hands curled around the sides of her waist, warm even through the layers of fabric, and he pulled her in a little closer. There was a distant thought – a vague stirring, really – of something else she needed to be doing at this moment, but even that was forgotten as his hands gripped a little tighter, as he leaned in and his breath spilled against her neck. She closed her eyes, waiting desperately for the feeling of his lips against her skin.

“Now,” he said playfully, his drawl lengthening, “where’s tha’ bowl ya wanted?”

The tension broken, she erupted into soft giggles as he pulled his arms around her and squeezed tight. He was so warm and solid wrapped around her, and even though she knew they really didn’t have time for it, part of her wished they could just stay like this forever, never letting go.

“Top cabinet,” she finally said, nodding up over her right shoulder, as he slowly released her. “Above the sink.”

He went over and opened up the cabinet in question, reaching up to pull down an over-sized plastic mixing bowl. As he turned back to face her, he glanced over at all the bags of candy sitting on top of the kitchen table, his brows quickly furrowing in confusion.

“How many kids ‘s comin’?” he asked.

“I dunno,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders. “Could be a lot.”

“All at once?” he asked in disbelief, as he walked over and handed her the bowl.

“Nah, they’ll come in groups… Sometimes two or three at a time, sometimes a dozen. And each one gets a piece. But don’t give anybody more than one or we could run out.”

“An’ wha’ happens if we run out ‘fore they stop comin’?”

“That’s why it’s called trick-or-treating, Hasil,” she said, opening up two of the bags and dumping them into the bowl. “We give them a treat, or we get a trick.”

“A trick? Wha’s tha’ mean?”

“Oh, normally just some little prank, like tossin’ toilet paper into the trees in the front yard or kickin’ one of the carved pumpkins people keep out on the porch.”

His eyes quickly widened in concern. “Why’d anyone wanna do that?”

“It’s Halloween… that’s what people do.” She smiled widely at him, hoping to get him to see that it wasn’t actually a very menacing holiday, as much as it might look like that to someone who hadn’t experienced it. “And  _that’s_  why I made sure to get enough candy. But,” she added, “if we really do run out, we can always turn off all the lights and pretend no one’s home.”

“Alrigh’…” he conceded, “if ya say so…” He grabbed a mini Snickers from the bowl and before she could even say anything, he had unwrapped it and tossed in his mouth.

“Don’t you be eatin’ all our candy, Hasil,” she softly chided him. “Plus you know how you get when you have too much sugar.”

Sally Ann knew well enough how he got, having seen him go up and come down from a rush on more than a few occasions. It made sense, seeing as how he hadn’t been around processed sugar for most of his life, and it didn’t take much for him to transform into a hyper-active whirlwind and eventually a draggy, sleepy mess. Sometimes, though, she had to remind herself that this was all so new to him, that he never got the chance to be a kid down here, below the mountain; he should get to experience everything he wanted to. But still, they had a party to get to later, so she made a mental note to keep a close eye on the candy bowl and in particular, she thought with a tiny smile, the mini Snickers.

The sharp ring of the doorbell echoed from the front of the house.

“Okay,” she said, feeling a ripple of excitement as she quickly grabbed the bowl. “Here we go.” And then she grasped his hand as well, pulling him into the next room.

They swung the door open to reveal a group of five younger kids, maybe six or seven years old, all dressed in a variety of colorful costumes.

“Trick or treat!” they yelled in unison.

“Aw, y’all look so cute!” she exclaimed. And they  _were_  ridiculously cute: there was a little Iron Man, covered in gold and red, a fairy princess, a cat and a bumblebee, and even a Harry Potter wearing dark robes and a striped scarf.

“Alright, here you go,” she said, as she began to drop candy into each of their bags. She glanced over at Hasil and nodded her head towards the kids, hoping that he would catch her meaning and join in.  

He took her hint and grabbed a quick handful of candy, giving pieces to the last two trick-or-treaters. It was hard not to smile, watching their small, upturned faces, the pure joy in their eyes that could only come from being a kid on Halloween, the night bursting with magic and endless possibility. And Hasil was smiling, too, probably caught up in the strange wonder of it all, in the children and the candy and the realization that no one was looking at him like he was anything out-of-the-ordinary – or, at least, as much as such a thing was possible on Halloween.

Because that was the weirdest part, she realized; all the kids, even the dotting of parents waiting patiently out on the sidewalk for them to finish up, none of them seemed to notice that a Farrell was in their midst. With his kilt and tattoos and long hair, normally all he did when he walked around town was attract attention. But now, by wearing something out of another century, he was somehow able to completely blend in.

Their treats acquired, the kids scampered off towards the sidewalk emitting squeals of glee, leaving Sally Ann and Hasil to retreat back inside, the door shutting softly behind them.

“See?” she said, clutching the bowl at her side. “Not too bad.”

“Nah, not too bad ‘t all,” he murmured.

He was looking at her again, his gaze turning warm and hungry, and this time – she could tell – it wasn’t necessarily for candy. His eyes still fixed on hers, he took a step closer, his hand slowly reaching towards her waist. Sally Ann swallowed hard, knowing exactly what he was thinking, even though neither of them should be thinking it, not when there were small children that could be approaching the front door at any moment. But then the weight of his hand was there, somehow a question and an answer all at once. She felt the flare of her lower belly tightening in response, just in time to hear the doorbell to ring again.

Sally Ann sighed and laughed a little at the horrible – or maybe perfect – timing. “C’mon, Hasil,” she finally said, rolling her eyes in exasperated amusement as she slid from his grasp. “We can’t keep the kids waitin’.”

He shrugged, giving her a nod of resigned agreement, even as the fire in his gaze remained undiminished.

But there was only one child when she opened the door, a small, pale blond boy dressed in a tiny sheriff’s outfit, complete with a flat-brimmed brown hat and shiny gold star. In confusion, she quickly glanced up towards the sidewalk, only to catch a glimpse of the lanky figure of Sheriff Houghton, standing not fifteen feet away with his hands on his hips, looking just a mite too concerned. He gave her a tiny nod, and then another to Hasil. The boy, she quickly realized, had to be his.

Turning her attention back to the child, she leaned down a little, trying her best to soften her gaze.

“And who is this upstanding lawman?” she asked.

A pair of big blue solemn eyes trained themselves on hers. “Caleb,” he said quietly.

“Hey there, Caleb,” she said, smiling. “Happy Halloween…”

The eyes widened, as if suddenly remembering something. “Trick or treat!” he half-shouted.

“Well, then… here’s a treat for you.” She took a piece of candy from the bowl and dropped it into his out-turned plastic bucket.

“What do we say?” Sheriff Houghton called out in gentle reminder.

“Thank you!” cried Caleb, quickly turning and running back towards his father.

As his son caught him around the waist, the sheriff looked back towards the two of them with a polite and thankful smile. “See y’all at eight-thirty?” he asked.

“We’ll be there,” she said, watching as the sheriff and his son made their way back towards the sidewalk and then on to the next house. A small group of costumed children passed by them from the opposite direction, looking as if they had every intention of being the next arrivals at Sally Ann and Hasil’s door.

It was almost non-stop from that point on, an endless parade of witches and cowgirls and pirates and ninjas, each one of them somehow even more adorable than the last. And Hasil was clearly getting into the spirit of the holiday, handing out candy as he asked the kids about their costumes and what they were supposed to be. It was funny, of course, because they had no idea he really couldn’t tell a Spiderman from a Superman, but she knew, and she loved how excited he got at each new discovery, how he grinned back at her each time a group departed from their doorstep.

The sky had grown dark, a dusting of stars appearing along the horizon, by the time their steady stream of visitors had begun to slow to a trickle. It was a good thing, too, as she had needed to go back to the kitchen for additional candy on more than one occasion, and now they were left with a single piece, a solitary peanut butter cup sitting in the bottom of the bowl.

She could feel him eyeing her – and the nearly-empty bowl – as she came inside and closed the door behind her. He hadn’t eaten any of their candy aside from that first mini Snickers, but for some reason she was in a mood to tease him with it now.

“What?” she asked, raising a knowing eyebrow at him in half-amusement.

Hasil pursed his lips, nodding once towards the bowl. “Trick or treat,” he said, his voice low and deep as he slowly drew out all the vowels.

“Hmmm,” she said playfully, glancing down at the bowl in feigned innocence. “You think that’s how this is gonna work?”

“I thought tha’ ‘s how it _did_ work,” he said, coming slightly closer. “Ain’t tha’ th’ rule? I say th’ words an’ you hand over wha’ ‘s in tha’ bowl.”

“Sometimes… but not this time.” She swiveled the bowl and held it behind her back, feeling her breath pull a little as she registered the heat in his glance. It was all catching up with her now, all at once: the costumes, his reaction, the slow-burning tension she had been feeling most of the night.

“Oh, I see…” he murmured, as he stepped close enough to touch her. “No treat, huh? Best get ta readyin’ yourself, then…”

“For what?” she asked in mock-defiance, gazing up at him through her lashes. A few wavy strands of hair had escaped from the knot at the nape of his neck, forming waves that softly traced against his cheeks.

“Ain’t gon’ tell ya. Then it ain’t no trick ‘t all.”

“That so?” she said, even though she was finding it hard to think – or even to breathe, actually – when he was so close, his body just a hair’s-breadth from hers, so tall and sturdy and overpowering even as his hands remained by his sides. She kept the bowl behind her, though, determined to outlast whatever torments he had in mind.

“Mhmm,” he murmured, leaning down towards her, his voice a soft rumble against her ear. Everything was so ridiculously warm – honestly, what had made her think this dress, with its yards and yards of fabric, was a good idea? – and she could feel her skin catch on fire with the heat of his breath against it.

He waited there for a moment, letting her suffer – she felt his lips curving into a smile – until he finally found that place where her neck traced down into her shoulder, offering her a kiss so light and soft it almost felt like the whisper of a breeze. Her eyes fell closed, her heart beating rapidly somewhere near her throat. And then he moved, slowly, achingly, along the edge of her collarbone, his mouth opening just enough for her to feel the slightest hint of warmth and pressure, until he reached the lace scarf she had tucked into the edge of the bodice. With his good hand he reached up and pushed the lace aside, his lips now moving lower, skimming and pressing against her skin, and she could feel her body begin to slowly burn and clench, a coiled spring in desperate need of release.

There was nothing else she could do – she had no choice, not really – so she let the bowl fall to the ground behind her back and with her hands brought his face up to hers. Her lips found his so easily, her mouth parting slightly as the edges of their tongues met. Her hands were urgent in his hair, nestling in the thick of it, quickly running along the shoulders of his coat, finding their way underneath the collar, to the buttons of the waistcoat, to the place where his shirt was tucked into his pants, where she could finally relish finding the warmth of his bare skin. And even with his mouth so inviting and insistent, she could feel his body pressing up against her, backing her up against the solidness of the front door. There was no escape, then – not that she would have wanted to be anywhere else – not with his hands on her waist, one soon pushing at her skirts while the other hovered up towards the curved bodice of the dress, his hips firmly wedged against hers.

Apparently, though, there had been space in her brain for one final rational thought: with a free hand, she reached out towards the panel of light switches on the wall and flipped all of them down, blanketing everything in darkness.

Hasil stilled for a moment, his labored breath echoing her own. “We gon’ pretend there ain’t no one home for a li’l while, Sally Ann?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, grinning as she lifted her leg to hook over his hip. For a second, she wondered just how late they could be to Sheriff Houghton’s party. “Might be longer than a little while, though…”


End file.
